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"Right here, right now." His eyes came back into focus, or maybe opened-- he was a little unsure. He blinked a few times. Sitting across from him, she grinned. "How did that feel?" It took him a moment to find his voice. "Good. Relaxing. I... kind of started dreaming for a while there, I wasn't paying so much attention to what you were saying, I'm sorry about that." "No, that's all right. I told you to do that." "You did?" He thought back. He remembered her talking about drifting. Had she said something about it being okay to stop paying attention to her words? Maybe. That did seem familiar. "Yes, I did. And you did it exactly right. You're very good at following directions." Something about her saying that made his face feel hot. He looked down, embarrassed. She said nothing, waiting. Eventually he started to feel even more embarrassed by the silence than by his own reaction, and he slowly looked back up. She was still looking steadily at him, smiling slightly. Approvingly. Her eyes were wide, open, direct, meeting his with all of her attention. Again, he noticed how clear and pretty the color of her eyes was, prettier than he could imagine anything else in the room being. Riveting. "Are you ready to try again?" It took him a moment to register her words, and he blinked. She grinned, and he shook his head to clear it, took a moment to look around the room. After a second he realized that his head shake could have been interpreted as a no. "Um, yes. Hang on a second." "It's all right. Shake it out, get comfortable." She grinned again. Taking her at her word, he wiggled his body all over, ending with rocking his butt from side to side in the chair. Then he took a deep breath. "Okay," he said. He looked up at her again, met her eyes. She gave the tiniest of nods. Then suddenly, her index finger was in front of his eyes. "Right here, right now," she said. His eyes locked on her finger. She was saying some more things, but he'd already lost track. For some reason, he was daydreaming about getting ready for a really special occasion. It had some of the feel of a super important job interview, and some of the feel of a really hot date-- except maybe a first date? But whatever it was, he was very much looking forward to it, and he wanted more than anything to make a good impression. He'd showered and shaved, and put on the tiniest hint of an afterthought of colone, the brand one of his girlfriends had been super into-- just enough to remind *himself* to think sexy thoughts. Maybe that meant it was a date. He was putting on his nicest suit-- the one that had always made the same girlfriend catch her breath when she saw him dressing in the morning. He had a moment of confusion with the slacks when he realized he'd forgotten to wear underwear, and he wondered if that was going to get him in trouble later if this *was* a date, but somehow that thought was hard to hold onto; it just wasn't as important as getting ready. He was going through all of the preparations and little rituals he did for getting ready for a really important occasion, and for getting ready for a very exciting and sexy date. Somehow it all ended in just looking at himself in the floor-length mirror in his bedroom, feeling confident at how good he looked, and noticing how each individual aspect of his appearance, bearing, and grooming was specifically chosen for *someone else*'s pleasure. And then a really weird whim struck him. And suddenly, to the beat of an imaginary track of slow, grinding, sexy music, he was taking his clothes back off. He turned his back to the mirror, playing to in imaginary audience on the other side; but since teasing was the point of a strip-tease, he kept turning around to the mirror again, his back to the "audience," and he noticed that when he took his clothes of *this* way-- in slow, teasing, sensual burlesque style-- he kept all the comfort and confidence and sexiness, all of the emotional charge of *wearing* those clothes, even while he was taking them off. Finally, he was stripped completely naked, facing the mirror and ready to turn around for his act's final reveal, when... He felt hands on his shoulders. "Right here, right now." He was looking at her face in the mirror, beside and a little behind his own, where she was speaking into his ear. In the mirror, where he was standing in front of her, completely naked. The funny thing was that standing there, looking at himself naked in the mirror, he *did* still feel a lot of the confidence and comfort and sexiness that he had in his daydream. Even while he was also... well, actually, not mortified, but a bit shy, about realizing that he had just stripped naked, in front of her, under hypnosis. And he still had that sense of anticipation, of being about to do something very important. Her face was gone from the mirror, and he realized that she had quietly stepped back. He turned, and saw that she had returned to the chair she was sitting in before, and was casually but purposefully seated there, occupying it like a throne. She looked somehow like a seated monarch, a goddess, but still her eyes were prettier, more compelling, than he could imagine anything else in the room being. Riveting. She looked deliberately down at the floor in front of him, and somehow he knew she meant for him to kneel. He still had just enough self-consciousness about his body to wish that he could kneel more gracefully than he did, but as soon as he'd awkwardly folded to his knees he forgot about his body completely, pinned again by her eyes. Sprawled on her throne, she spread her legs apart, and he noticed for the first time that she wasn't wearing underwear either. She pointed. "Right here, right now." He hastened to do her bidding.

"Oh my god!  Yes, right there right there just like that oHHHHHHHH!"  Meg dug her fingers into John's hair and held his head firmly against her crotch as her legs tensed around his ears and her back arched, throwing her head back into the bed.  A moment later she just as firmly pulled his head away a couple of inches, pulling his lips from her still-clenching-around-his-fingers pussy.

He grinned happily.  "You don't usually let me keep going that long," he commented.

Meg panted for a few moments, smiling dreamily, before answering.  "We're not usually keeping score, are we?  I want you to feel like you're doing well."

"Oh, shoot, that's right!" John said.  He carefully slipped his wet fingers out of her, drawing a shudder that ran the length of her whole body.  Absentmindedly wiping her juices on his bare chest, he stood and walked over to the whiteboard on the bedroom wall.

Two names were written at the top, "Meg" and "John."  Under "John" there were two tick marks.  He added another one.

There were none under "Meg."

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Meg asked with a smirk. "You're winning by a *lot* now."

John looked at the board, smiled, and nodded.  "Yeah, I am, aren't I?"

"I'll bet you think about that every time you think about licking my pussy.  Feels like winning."

He looked back at her naked body, still spread out on the bed, and licked his lips.

"It's making you hard just thinking about it, isn't it?"

John nodded, walking back towards the bed.  One hand reached down to stroke his cock, as he stared fixedly between her legs.

"I know you're just seconds away just from the smell of me on your face, the taste of me on your lips, the sight of me so… close…"

Pumping his hand faster, John wriggled towards her spread legs, but at the last moment she put out a foot to stop him.  A tiny whine escaped his throat.

"Look at me, John," Meg said in a commanding voice.  His eyes immediately snapped to her face, locked onto hers.

"Come for me."

He came immediately, yelling her name, semen squirting across the bed and the backs of her thighs.  Panting.  Still staring intently, spellbound, into her eyes.

Her smile grew wider, as his panting slowed.  "You'd better write that one down," she said.

She looked away, releasing his gaze.  After a moment more of panting, he nodded, and stood.

As he took one step away from the bed, she said "Look at me, John."  He turned, hand still on his cock.  "Come for me."

"Ohmigod," John said.  His hand was pumping furiously, and he staggered, yelling her name again.

"Good boy."

Half for effect, half still reeling, John crawled to the whiteboard, and slowly stood up to reach for the marker.

"Come for me, John."

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